


As Fast As Love Can Go

by ruffboi



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Peril, Minor Injuries, Pining, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29708853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffboi/pseuds/ruffboi
Summary: There are Faeries in the Wood.That's what everyone said, at least, not that there was any solid proof. Jaskier had tried, more than once, to find some. Just a hint somewhere, of a real story, of real magic. But all anyone seemed to have was stories.Jaskier was determined to find proof. He wasn't expecting to find a witcher in the process.--Jaskier goes into a magical forest and comes out with a witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 35
Kudos: 468
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	As Fast As Love Can Go

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Geraskier Reverse Bang! This was written to go with the art by the LOVELY [Hearse](http://hehearse.tumblr.com), which can be found [here on tumblr](https://hehearse.tumblr.com/post/644151401208020992/sometime-ago-a-drew-this-for-geraskierreversebang) for reblogging purposes!
> 
> Very lightly beta'd by the irreplaceable [Dorian](http://jackironsides.tumblr.com).

_There are Faeries in the Wood._

That's what everyone _said_ , at least, not that there was any solid _proof_. Jaskier had tried, more than once, to find some. Just a hint somewhere, of a real story, of real magic. But all anyone seemed to have was _stories_.

Someone's brother or husband went into the Wood to hunt, and never came back.

A village went too far into the Wood felling trees for lumber, and their one morning they woke to find their children all missing, footprints leading into the trees.

A maiden who swore her betrothed saw an inhumanly beautiful woman through the trees and wasted to nothing for want of her.

Every city, town, village, or homestead in the narrow band of land tucked between the Wood and the sea had stories aplenty, but all were old, or second-hand, or could easily be chalked up to something natural. And they were easy to spin into something magical and mysterious and a little bit frightening, sure. Jaskier was a master of his craft, and as a bard that craft was storytelling above all else.

But Jaskier had come to the edge of the Wood for _real_ stories. The truly shocking and surprising, the sincerely magical and unexplainable. He never showed this disappointment to the folk telling him the stories, of course. He might've been young and driven (and exasperated), but he had _manners_ , when he chose to, and there was nothing to be gained by being rude and dismissive of people who'd chosen to tell him what they knew, even if what they knew was, essentially, "nothing". But that didn't stop him trudging, frustrated, further south into the Woodverge, further from all but the stubborn, determined people who had lived here for generations.

The stories started getting odder and more inexplicable as he went, but most were third- or fourth-hand, and could well be nothing more than the account of how someone's cousin decided to skip town for the big city without saying goodbye first.

The story that had caught his imagination was one that he heard over and over, having traveled from town to town over the decades since it was first told. A town near the woods had done something to anger the Faeries inside, and their children had been stolen. What the town did had changed multiple times, and Jaskier would have dismissed the differences as different potential incidents, except for the unique shared trait between them. This was not the only story of stolen children, after all, not even a whole town's worth. But this particular story, originating somewhere uncertain in the southern Woodverge, was the only version of that particular kind of tale where the children were ever _returned_.

It was the story that had convinced him to venture deeper into the verge, searching for more stories, because it was the only one that seemed too easy to disprove if untrue, and too unbelievable otherwise without some sort of magic. The traditional translation of a "loss of all children" legend that Jaskier had learned in Oxenfurt was that there had been some sort of plague or affliction that had killed most of the children of a town, and was then mythologized into some outside force taking their children away. Children couldn't come back from a plague.

So there was a chance, however slim, that the story was true. That the children really had been stolen and then returned by the Wood (or something in it). And if _that_ was real, it probably meant that the knight-errant who had saved the children was real as well.

Jaskier couldn't say what about the mysterious knight had caught his attention - maybe it was just the fact that he was willing to put himself in considerable danger and possibly face death to save the children of a town that was not his, who didn't believe he could help them, who offered no repayment should he succeed. Maybe it was the fact that he was described as being 'noble in face and mien, with eyes like the sun and starshine in his hair', all of which Jaskier found quite alluring to imagine. Regardless of Jaskier's reasons for pursuing the tale, the outcome was the most important part: the children had emerged from the Wood a day after the knight had entered. The knight had never emerged again.

It was heroic and intriguing and Jaskier wanted to know more about this noble knight, so he could write a proper song about him, but every town and village he passed through had no information, if they'd even heard that variant of the more familiar story. Every place he stopped was a dead end,

Until Galetta.

Galetta was a smallish town that skirted shockingly close to the edge of the Wood, feeling protected by the small river that ran between the trees and the fields in this part of the Woodverge. With a clear border like that, the people of Galetta felt more or less comfortable working daily within a stone's throw of the trees, even drawing water from the river now and then. Perhaps it was that comfort that had led to a young hunter tracking a hart into the woods for a good hour despite the known danger. Jaskier couldn't be sure, the man hadn't been able to give a much better reasoning than the fact the hart would feed his family quite well.

That, however, Jaskier couldn't care less about. What he cared about, when the young man came stumbling, breathless and frightened, into the tavern was what the man had _seen_.

"T'were a monster," the man insisted, as his friends clustered around him and pressed food and ale on him. Jaskier drew as close as he could, to hear this. "A twisted knight knelt before some inhuman altar. The Wood had grown _out of him_ , wrapped all around him!"

The listening audience shuddered in a mixture of fear and excitement. Even this close to the danger, there was a little thrill to hearing a scary story that was or could be true.

"Where?" Jaskier asked without meaning to. Every eye in the room turned towards him, wide and suddenly lacking all the thrill this man's escape had brought. It was unnerving. Jaskier didn't retract his question.

"In the Wood," the hunter said, like he thought Jaskier was particularly slow or dense.

"Yes, I know _that_." Jaskier waved him off dismissively, deciding at that moment to plow ahead with this impulsive plan. "I mean where in the Wood? How deep? In what direction?"

"Uh," the hunter said. "About five miles east from the south gate, once you crossed the river. _Why_?"

Jaskier grinned brightly, almost maniacally, at the suddenly-concerned townsfolk as he gathered his things and the small amount of coin he'd made.

"I'm going to go find it, of course!"

* * *

This was, Jaskier considered as he ventured deeper into the woods in the fading light, perhaps the most idiotic plan he'd ever come up with. That was not something he claimed lightly; he'd had _many_ idiotic plans in his short life. But going unarmed and unprepared into the Wood, with the intention of finding and interacting with a knight who'd clearly been all but _claimed_ by the powers within. If the knight didn't attack him on sight, he'd still be getting the attention of powers he'd be much better off avoiding.

And yet, here he was, clambering through the undergrowth like an idiot.

"Maybe one day I won't be a complete fucking _moron_ ," he muttered to himself as he continued pushing forward, because maybe one day, he wouldn't have an apparent latent death wish.

This sort of thing continued, until he burst into a particular clearing.

It was much brighter than it should've been, by Jaskier's estimations, given how cloudy it was outside when he entered the woods. On the other hand, he might've been in the Wood for... quite long time now. Long enough for the clouds to clear, at least.

He was still busy turning over the possibility of him being trapped in the Wood when he stumbled, barely catching himself against a tree, and then looked up, and saw him.

An old warrior by his coloring, but a young one by his posture, a man in armor knelt in a patch of dandelions before a carved standing stone that glowed with a golden light in the dappled green of the wood. Jaskier couldn't tell at first if he was simply a statue, the way the hanging vines had draped over and around him and the way his hair seemed almost marble-white, but a breeze wound through the clearing and ruffled not only Jaskier's hair but the warrior's as well.

[ ](https://hehearse.tumblr.com/post/644151401208020992/)

"Hello?" Jaskier called cautiously, stepping slowly out from the trees. "I don't mean to intrude, but I was looking for some sort of forest monster? Don't suppose you've seen one while you've been... knelt here?"

The warrior didn't respond, didn't even move an inch, and Jaskier sighed.

"It wouldn't kill you to at least _answer_ me," Jaskier pointed out, swinging his lute off his back and setting it carefully against the trunk of the tree he'd come around before moving slowly forward. He could see the man's two swords stuck in the ground on either side of him, the vines draping over them as well. It was unnerving, like the man had sat here motionless long enough to become almost part of the woods. "Well that's just silly," Jaskier muttered to himself as he stepped carefully through the dandelions, doing his best not to stir too many of the little seeds into the air. He couldn't quite say _why_ it felt like he should be cautious, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling. In the Wood, it seemed wiser to listen to that gut feeling even if it seemed irrational.

When he came around the warrior, standing alongside the glowing stone, he saw that the man's eyes were open, staring blankly ahead without blinking. They seemed to glow the same yellow as the light from the stone, from a distance.

"Hello?" he asked quietly, crouching down in front of the man. His eyes, Jaskier noted with surprise, didn't just _appear_ yellow in the light from the standing stone, but looked like molten gold. It was quite fetching, and Jaskier wondered if this is what the stories meant by "sun-gold eyes and star-bright hair".

"You're rather handsome, actually," Jaskier mused as he took stock of the warrior. "I wonder if you were the young hunter's monstrous knight? He did say knelt before an altar, which you are, in a sense. You're _knelt_ , anyway." Jaskier smirked and moved one of the vines that had draped over the warrior's shoulders. "Being draped in vines is hardly the same thing as having the Wood growing out of you and wrapping around you, but I'm sure we both know how imaginations can spin a startling sight into something more frightening if given the chance."

There was a flicker of movement then, Jaskier thought, perhaps a slight flaring of nostrils? He leaned in closer to the stone-still warrior and brushed the white hair back from his face, fingertips lightly dragging across the warrior's skin.

Jaskier didn't even have a chance to process how warm the skin was before he was being shoved back against the standing stone.

* * *

The last thing Geralt remembered was making a deal with a faerie for the freedom of a town's worth of children, so when he felt warm skin against his face and saw unnaturally bright eyes only inches away from him, he reacted to the threat as any witcher should.

Geralt shoved the thing back, crashing it into the stone behind it, and reached back over his shoulder for a blade. His hand closed on nothing, however, and he cursed, turning to find his swords impaled in the dirt a little ways behind him.

He'd just closed his hand around the hilt of his steel sword (too little iron to truly harm faeries, but enough to hurt them a bit) when he heard his foe groan.

" _Ow_ ," the thing said, almost petulantly. "That _really_ hurt, was that really necessary?"

Geralt pulled his sword from the ground and turned with a frown on the creature he'd assumed was attacking him.

Sitting with his back against what he could now see was some sort of faerie stone, as if he hadn't moved since Geralt shoved him there, was a... boy. A young man, he supposed, though that distinction mattered little to him. His clothes were gaudily colored and strange, his hair was brown and curled slightly where it had grown out somewhat, and he seemed to be, by all accounts, _human_.

"What," Geralt said, not quite a question, not yet sheathing his blade.

"The _shoving_ ," the boy said, pushing himself to his feet and dusting off the cloud of dandelion seeds that had gathered on him from Geralt's abrupt movements. "I mean, I suppose I startled you as much as you startled me, but you'll bruise a man's _kidneys_ pushing that hard against stone."

He looked up and met Geralt's eyes. The bright blue-violet color of the boy's eyes seemed less unnatural now that they were in a human face, the color admittedly vivid, but enhanced by the glow of sunlight that had caught them when he'd been crouched in front of Geralt. Geralt didn't let his guard down, though, knowing that faeries could be tricksters, especially powerful in the Wood.

"What's your business in the Wood?" Geralt asked sharply, holding the blade level with the boy's throat. The boy wisely went still and raised his hands placatingly, his eyes wide. Geralt could hear his heartbeat quicken.

"Ah," the boy said. "Well, it's not business so much as curiosity. Although I suppose you could say collecting stories _is_ business, after a fashion, so I suppose my business in the wood was, ah... finding you?"

Geralt narrowed his eyes, touching the blade to the boy's throat. "What do you mean, _finding me_?"

"For the story!" the boy exclaimed, and Geralt had to give him credit for not shaking or soiling himself. "I'm a bard, you see, I was trying to find more information about the village whose children you saved!"

Geralt blinked a few times, then stepped back, lowering his sword, though he was still on guard. "What?"

"That _was_ you, wasn't it?" the boy asked, a smile spreading across his face once the blade was no longer at his neck. "Someone alone the line had a poetic inclination, the story says you've eyes like the sun and hair made of starlight, and such things. Very poetic, didn't quite expect them to mean it so _literally_ of course, but really that just makes it better." A beat, then he tilted his head thoughtfully. "Unless... you _weren't_ the one who went into the Wood and saved every child from one specific village but never emerged himself?"

"Hmm," Geralt responded, unwilling to be too affirmative about the story being about him, and sheathed his steel blade before retrieving and sheathing the silver one as well. He'd have to look them over for damage or corrosion, having been stuck in the dirt for weeks or months, apparently, but that would be better done _outside_ of the Wood.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," the boy said smugly. "I'm Jaskier, by the way. Bard extraordinaire, long since of Oxenfurt and late of Galatta. Might I have the honor of knowing your name, Sir...?"

"Geralt," Geralt grunted.

"Sir Geralt, truly an honor getting to meet you, _truly_ ," Jaskier effused, trailing behind Geralt as he circled the clearing. There didn't seem to be any sign of recent faerie activity, so they'd probably be as safe as they could be, as long as they made for theedge of the Wood _quickly_.

"Just Geralt," Geralt ground out. "I'm not a knight. Which way did you come in?"

"Just Geralt, then." Jaskier sounded amused, but didn't argue. "Over this way, I left my lute against the tree I passed. Why not a knight? Surely someone as noble as to rescue a village's children is worthy of the title?"

"Wasn't nobility, just a job," Geralt clarified, waiting to dive into the wood until Jaskier had shouldered his lute case. Wouldn't do to just leave the poor sod behind, unfortunately. "I'm a witcher, I took a contract. Now that you've gotten me out of whatever enchantment the faeries had me under, I'll be returning for my pay."

"That'd be a trick, unless you remember the village name," Jaskier commented, trailing after Geralt without question back into the trees. How the boy was still alive, Geralt certainly didn't know, if he would willingly follow an enchanted stranger into the thick of the Wood. "I can't seem to get a consensus from anybody. Galetta might be it, they had the most concrete stories about it all, but they're just big enough I rather think they just absorbed a few people who'd lived it."

Geralt couldn't _begin_ to follow that meandering line of thought. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh!" Jaskier said, having the decency to sound a little sheepish. "I'm just saying, it may be hard to find someone willing to pay you, considering the story's probably anywhere from fifty to a hundred years old, by my estimations."

Geralt stopped pressing through the trees, and turned to examine Jaskier, searching for any indication that he was lying or kidding, and finding nothing but widely sincere eyes and an almost apologetic downturn of his lips.

Geralt sighed and closed his eyes against the rising frustration and anxiety.

" _Fuck_ ," he said with feeling.

* * *

By the time they emerged from the woods, Jaskier had come to the conclusion that Geralt had disappeared into the woods approximately 80 years prior (by relying on Jaskier's familiarity with history), that he had no memory _of_ those last 80 years, and that Geralt was _very_ grumpy when woken out of a magical trance into an unknown future.

Admittedly, Jaskier couldn't blame him for being grumpy. Eighty years was a long time no matter how you cut it, and he wasn't even going to be _paid_ for the loss.

He also couldn't blame Geralt for the faintly lost expression on his face as he surveyed the rather bustling little town of Galetta, clearly trying to get his bearings and failing miserably.

"Listen," Jaskier said, coming up next to him, "I've a room at the inn and a bit of spare coin from playing the tavern the past couple of weeks. Come get a bath, some supper, a good night's sleep. Things'll be more manageable in the morning."

"You don't have to put yourself out on my account," Geralt said, setting his jaw. "I'll manage. It's what witchers do."

"You know, the more you talk about witchers, the less I like what you seem to think you're required to put up with," Jaskier commented. "I've not run into a witcher myself before, but from what I hear you lot _protect_ us. Think of it as gratitude for getting me out of the Wood in one piece, if you must."

"If I must?" Geralt echoed, looking over at him with a raised eyebrow. "And how do _you_ think of it?"

"As helping out someone in need who might be a friend," Jaskier said plainly. "Or at least a source of interesting stories, if I play my cards right."

He grinned winningly and was rewarded by a soft snort of what sounded to _Jaskier_ like amusement. It wasn't a smile, but it was enough of a success that he would take it.

"Fine," Geralt said. "Just for the night, though."

"Naturally," Jaskier agreed. "Just for the night."

* * *

Geralt stayed in town for three days.

The first, he slept almost clear through. Whatever trance the faeries had kept him in apparently wasn't particularly restful when added onto the strain of realizing the world was different from when he left. He didn't know which of his brothers still lived. If any of them did. He didn't know the current kings or political climate - admittedly he'd paid as little attention to that as possible even before the Wood, but it didn't hurt to know when a war might be brewing in order to avoid it, at least.

When they got to the inn, Geralt had stopped and stared at the stables for a long minute before Jaskier came back out and ushered him inside. It was silly, but it took until that moment to realize that his horse was dead. Roach had been a good horse, with him almost six years when he'd gone into the Wood. He hoped that whoever ended up keeping her treated her well. If some of his sleep was more grief than anything, he wouldn't admit it. He'd lost horses before, each of them called Roach, each of them good horses in their own way. He was a witcher. Such was the way of the world.

The second day in town he spent trying to track down someone who could tell him if there was even the slightest chance of getting paid. He wasn't expecting much, but he found one of the oldest of human grannies he'd ever laid eyes on, nearing a full century's age, blind and half deaf. She'd been one of the children he'd saved, it seemed, and once her grandson explained who he was and what he was searching for, she'd insisted upon repaying him personally, for she'd lived a full and happy life after returning home with the other children.

"I was old enough to understand how frightened our parents were, you know," she said when he tried to politely refuse, patting his cheek with her gnarled, delicate hand. "You did our town a great service, master witcher. My family has plenty and if you've been in the Wood that long I doubt you've much other than the clothes on your back. It's only right."

It was kinder than he was accustomed to. But then, she hadn't ever met him, simply heard stories about the noble witcher who'd saved them all. It was easy to put someone on a pedestal when they weren't there to become problematic or frightening.

The third day, he spent much of his unexpected reward on supplies for travel, replacing things that he'd left with Roach when he'd gone into the Wood, and stocking up on perishables and herbs. He'd have to collect more himself to make any of his potions, but he at least had enough of the basic things he'd require that he could do that on the road without any significant difficulty.

The real difficulty came that night, when he decided to stay at the tavern and watch Jaskier perform, rather than retreat to the inn directly after eating. The bard had insisted quite vehemently on Geralt staying in the room he'd rented. Geralt had only taken the bed that first night (and day), but given the boy's generosity, it seemed only fair that he witness one of his performances before they parted ways.

And if he was perhaps curious to hear Jaskier's voice after catching only snatches of humming in their room in the evening, he couldn't really be faulted. After all, the boy had declared his intent to write a song about Geralt saving the children - Geralt may as well see if he was any good.

He sat in the darkest corner he could lay claim to and nursed an ale as he watched Jaskier play some nice but relatively sedate songs until the crowd seemed to have transitioned from the supper crowd to the drinking crowd. At that point he started playing more energetically, weaving between the tables and flirting shamelessly with the married barmatron who was easily old enough to be his mother. He cycled through what were clearly well-known drinking songs, some raunchy ditties, a few adventurous ballads that seemed to be of his own composition. He hammed it up, sang in a shockingly clear countertenor when a woman spoke in any of them, and seemed to be pleased but unsurprised by his own songs being well-received.

It should have been obnoxious at _best_ , smarmy at worst. And yet, Geralt found Jaskier's antics to be more _charming_ than anything. Even when he leered a little at audience members during a particularly dirty rhyme or verse, he managed to make it seem all in good fun.

It was _infuriating_. Just as well Geralt was leaving in the morning.

It was near midnight by the time Jaskier dropped heavily into the seat across from Geralt, flushed and breathing heavily, his hair near plastered to his forehead, his doublet long since abandoned and currently draped carefully over the back of a nearby chair.

"So?" he asked eagerly. "What'd you think? Three words or less!"

"Hmm," Geralt said. "Energetic, I suppose."

"Well, you're _honest_ , at least," Jaskier said with a dramatic sigh. Geralt almost felt a little bad for not having anything better to say about the performance before he saw the smile tugging at Jaskier's lips.

" _Hopefully_ ," Jaskier continued, finishing off his own mug of beer, "you'll form some further thoughts as time goes on."

Geralt frowned. "When would I be doing that?"

Jaskier opened his mouth, then closed it and looked away. "Ah. Well, it's just... we haven't had _much_ time to discuss what it's like to be a witcher," he said, apparently determined not to look at Geralt while he spoke. "So I was thinking that perhaps I could travel with you for a while, get a few more stories, maybe see you in action a time or two?"

Geralt knew he should say no, and opened his mouth to do so before Jaskier was even done. But...

But he had to admit that it would be nice, maybe, to have someone travel with him, for a little while. To make sure he knew a reasonable price for a loaf of bread, or what the etiquette was at a brothel or bathhouse these days, that sort of thing. Entirely pragmatic.

"Until the next city," Geralt said finally, with determined reluctance. "Then we go our own way."

"Yes!" Jaskier agreed immediately, his nearly-unnatural eyes bright and sparkling. "Absolutely. Just until the next city!"

* * *

Geralt _told_ Jaskier they'd go their separate ways at the next city, which was only a few days' travel away. To Jaskier's delight, however, Geralt was not satisfied as to the _safety_ of said city.

"Too much like Novigrad," Geralt said once they'd hit an inn. "Wouldn't feel right, leaving a kid like you to fend for himself in a place like this."

"I'm twenty-five, actually," Jaskier said primly. "But I'll allow it."

* * *

"You should probably get out of the verge, too," Geralt said one night about three weeks after his awakening in the Wood. He could hear Jaskier stop whatever digging in his pack he'd been doing, could feel Jaskier's eyes on him as he skinned and dressed the rabbits he'd caught for their supper.

"It's good for new material," Jaskier said, his tone light.

"Hmm." Geralt frowned at his hands. He didn't consider Jaskier a proper friend, not quite, but he would hate if something were to happen to him in search of a _story_. And if he insisted on staying in the verge, poking his nose into stories of faeries and magic, something would almost certainly happen to him.

He was silent for a few more minutes, until the rabbits were ready and dropped into the small stew pot that was set over the fire. Jaskier was humming to himself as he scribbled in his songbook.

"Perhaps you could travel with me instead," Geralt said without thinking. It was too much, he should take it back, it would scare Jaskier off to know a witcher was willing to have him along, probably would assume he was meant to be bait, or a sacrificial meal, or--

"Really, Geralt?" Jaskier asked, and his delighted tone made Geralt meet his eyes almost unwillingly. His smile was blinding and hopeful, and Geralt found that he couldn't stand to take back the impulsive offer after all.

"For a while, at least," he hedged with a nod. 

"I think I'd like that," Jaskier agreed, and grinned at him a moment longer before returning to his scribbling with renewed energy.

If Geralt's lips curled into a bit of a smile as he watched the stew bubble, there was thankfully no one to see and call attention to it.

* * *

"Geraaaalt!" Jaskier shrieked as he tried to shimmy higher up the tree trunk he was clinging to, away from the barghest snarling at him from the foot of the tree. It kept jumping up to try to grab his feet, which Jaskier had managed to get just a foot or so out of its reach.

"I'm a bit busy!" Geralt shouted back. In fairness, Jaskier supposed as he tried to use a knot in the bark as enough leverage to push up to the next branches, Geralt _was_ surrounded by a pack of the things at the moment. They didn't seem to be proving particularly _dangerous_ , but were fast and numerous and didn't seem inclined to let themselves get hit.

"Okay, but as soon as you've got a momee _eent_ \--!" Jaskier's comment turned into another shriek as his foot slipped and the barghest below him made another try for his toes.

Jaskier heard Geralt curse, and then he... did _something_. Jaskier couldn't quite make it out, but he did something with his free hand, pressed it to the ground, and suddenly he and the four barghests around him were in a circle of shimmering purple light.

Jaskier's breath caught in his throat, and he almost forgot for a moment that there was a monster trying to pull him out of the tree to eat him, as Geralt turned and ran from the pack towards his tree, the other barghests trying to follow but moving like they were stuck in molasses.

"Hey!" Geralt shouted, and the creature at the base of the tree stopped staring at Jaskier and turned towards Geralt just in time for Geralt's sword to remove its head from its body in one smooth stroke. The witcher took a moment to look up at Jaskier, who was frozen motionless reaching for the next branch. "You hurt?" he asked.

"N-no," Jaskier said, clearing his throat. Geralt's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded and turned back to the rest of the pack just in time for them to break free of whatever magical trap he'd conjured, coming at him with fangs bared.

Jaskier managed to scramble up to the next branch and then sat there hugging the trunk, absolutely transfixed by Geralt's movements. They'd been on the road together for several weeks now as they slowly traveled north towards the border of the Woodverge and the easiest path away from the Wood itself, taking time for both Jaskier and Geralt to ply their respective trades in towns and cities as they went. It meant that Jaskier was well familiar with the rather tantalizing sight of Geralt practicing his sword forms or whatever they were called. He'd thought it was amazing to watch _then_.

 _Now_ , watching him actually fight, Jaskier found he didn't even mind the blood or the noise or even (as he gutted one of the barghests mid-leap) the growing _smell_. Geralt was truly made for this, his sword an extension of his arm, his movement as fluid as a dancer. Another gesture with his hand sent out a wave of force that knocked the remaining two barghests back, one hitting a tree hard enough that Jaskier could hear the crunching snap of its spine, and then there was only one beast, quickly finished off as it hesitated between attacking and fleeing.

There was only Geralt left standing, breathing heavier than usual but not panting or gasping, his posture still on guard for a moment, before he relaxed and pulled a rag out of his pocket to wipe the blood off his sword. The practiced motion and care he paid to getting the blade clean was somehow the most attractive thing Jaskier had ever seen.

"Oh, hell," Jaskier whispered to himself.

And then he hoped very much that witcher hearing - which Geralt had already told him was far better than a human's - was not good enough for Geralt to have heard that.

"You can come down, you know," Geralt called, appearing to find his sword clean enough to sheathe and pulling out a knife to... cut apart one of the barghests for some reason.

"I'm a little afraid my legs will give out now that I'm not climbing for my life, to be honest," Jaskier called back, trying to will himself away from thoughts of Geralt's muscles and other things that would make getting down from the tree awkward, at least interpersonally. "I'll just sit up here for a little bit until they stop shaking."

Geralt frowned up at him for a moment, scrutinizing him, then nodded and returned to his butchering.

"Soooo, we planning to have that for supper or something?"

"It's inedible," Geralt answered, kind enough to continue to raise his voice so Jaskier could hear him from his tree. "Would give you the shits for a week if it didn't outright poison you."

"Ew," Jaskier muttered, wrinkling his nose. "Then what are you doing?"

"Potion ingredients."

"Oh! For those witcher potions you haven't been able to make yet?" Jaskier perked up. When Geralt had needed to stop to collect some herbs their first week on the road, he'd explained that witchers had certain potions they could take to enhance their abilities or keep them from dying, but any potions he'd had when he went into the Wood had disappeared from his belt at some point in the last 80 years, probably removed by curious (or cautious) faeries.

"Yes," Geralt answered.

"I thought you said they're inedible," Jaskier pointed out. Geralt looked up at him with an exasperated expression.

"For _humans_. For witchers, they have parts that can be useful reagents."

"So I probably shouldn't drink any of your witcher potions in an attempt to gain some sort of magical powers?" Jaskier asked, mostly joking.

"They'd literally kill you," Geralt said dryly. "So... no."

"Duly noted." Jaskier swung his legs a bit, looking down at the base of the tree and realizing that unfortunately, staying up in the tree much longer would end in not being able to actually get _down_ from the tree. "Right, well, while you wrap up that monster butchering, I'll just be... trying to climb down this unfairly high tree." He flashed a grin. "Wish me luck!"

Without waiting to see if Geralt would do so, Jaskier shifted on the branch and began the extremely difficult task of climbing down. He wasn't even really _that_ high up, but it was just enough for his legs to immediately protest. He actually made it all the way down without losing his footing, but one of his legs gave out under him when he dropped the last few feet to the ground.

Or, it would have, if a strong arm hadn't slung around his waist and kept him upright while he tried to ascertain whether his legs were going to behave again. Which was, ironically, _not helped_ by the strong arm slung around his waist.

"Steady," Geralt's voice rumbled behind him. "Adrenaline crashes are a bitch sometimes."

"Yeah," Jaskier said faintly, feeling like he might swoon from the warm chest his back was pressed into. "So it would seem." He cleared his throat and forced his legs to hold him up, and stepped away from Geralt before turning back and smiling crookedly at him _._ "Thanks for catching me."

"Hmm," Geralt replied, meeting his gaze evenly for a long moment. "Try to have more balance than a newborn foal next time you climb a tree."

Jaskier gasped dramatically, the weight of the moment abruptly lifted, and pressed a hand to his chest. "How _dare_ you! I nearly _died_!"

"You nearly got stuck up a tree."

" _Yooou_ nearly let a demon dog eat me!"

Geralt turned to walk back to his butchering, to finish collecting the last parts he could use, but Jaskier could swear he saw a grin tugging at Geralt's lips as he did.

"Okay," Jaskier allowed, following after him with a grin, "but you _have_ to tell me what fiddly magic thing you did with your hand while you were fighting, Geralt. _Geralt_!"

"Hmm."

* * *

"There's a contract I should take," Geralt told Jaskier as they reconvened from their respective errand-running. Two months of somewhat slower-than-strictly-necessary travel had finally brought them to Virden, the northernmost city on the western border of the Wood, and the westernmost city on the northern border of the Wood, where theoretically Geralt and Jaskier had planned to go their separate ways, Geralt heading northeast closer to the interior of the continent, and Jaskier traveling along the coast bound for Oxenfurt.

"Oh?" Jaskier looked up and tilted his head to the side. "I thought you were a bit eager to put the Wood behind you."

"Sounds like a nightwraith," Geralt explained, focusing on his lunch and not the way Jaskier's eyes followed him. "Difficult to get rid of without a witcher, and deadly. Wouldn't feel right moving on without handling it."

" _Oh_ , well in that case. I'll wait for you, of course," Jaskier said immediately. Geralt tried not to feel too pleased by it. A difference of a day wouldn't change their branching paths from separating, after all.

"Best we get a few miles between us and the Wood before you go off on your own," Geralt agreed. A bitter sort of sent rose up to mingle with everything else that meant 'Jaskier' to his nose, sweat and catgut and that spiced perfume he liked. Geralt would've thought it sadness, but the smile on Jaskier's face was as wide and sincere as ever.

"Well I'll spend the evening entertaining, then, while you go save the masses from whatever this nightwraith is, and you can tell me all about it while we make our way to a crossroads tomorrow, how does that sound?"

"Hmm," Geralt hummed acquiescence and set into his lunch with fervor. He'd have to find the wraith's bones, and if he wasted daylight he may well not be able to do so until tomorrow, which would lengthen their stay.

As he ate, he put out of his mind the little aching feeling in his chest at Jaskier's unflappable cheer and the reminder that they'd still go their separate ways tomorrow. He had a job to do.

* * *

It was, Jaskier thought, the height of his skill as an actor that not a bit of his disappointment showed in his face or voice when he was faced with his inevitable parting from Geralt. He managed to keep it up until they'd gotten a room above the tavern he'd be performing at and Geralt had gone off to deal with his contract.

It was fine. He was always going to get left behind and he'd known that from the start. If only the bastard hadn't been kind and funny and even a bit charming under the gruff initial first impression.

He would just have to distract himself tonight. Perhaps there would be a pretty young thing at the tavern tonight when he played. If there was the right person, he'd gladly take an evening's diversion to remind him that the world didn't end and begin with Geralt of Rivia. Jaskier had been happy before meeting him and he'd be happy again after bidding him farewell.

Everything was going to be fine.

* * *

The nightwraith outside town had been shockingly easy to deal with. Geralt wasn't sure if it was weaker than most other wraiths of this sort he'd fought or if he was just unaccustomed to hunts going so smoothly. It was almost unnerving how smoothly.

This close to the Wood, it made him more nervous than it ought to, he had to admit. He wouldn't truly feel as if he'd escaped whatever fate the faeries had in mind for him until the Wood was far behind him. Still, he finished the job, gathered the ashes to take to the city clerk's office in the morning for proof of kill, and headed back to the tavern.

The moon had risen early, and it was still rather early by the time Geralt stepped into the tavern. Jaskier was playing enthusiastically, and when he saw Geralt he quickly wrapped up the song he was singing and announced that he was taking a break, before beelining back to the witcher.

"That was quick! I wasn't expecting you to make it back so soon. No trouble, then?"

"Hmm," Geralt said. "Other than wraith dust in my hair."

Jaskier wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Well. Shall I ask after a bath, then, or will you just stick your head in a bucket and call it done?"

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "Were you planning on _allowing_ me to use a bucket?"

"Absolutely not!" Jaskier replied with a grin. "Go on upstairs, I'll see what I can get them to scrape up. Shouldn't be more than a couple hours down here, but don't wait up for me."

In the end, there wasn't a full bath, but there was a large basin of hot water sent up with the tavern-keeper's apologies and an offer to put in a good word at the bath house in the morning. His hair rinsed of the wraith dust, at least, Geralt took the small bed nearest the door and let himself doze to the muffled sounds of Jaskier's performance below him.

He did wake when Jaskier finally stumbled sleepily into the room, but only long enough to register him leaning his lute case against their bags, carefully folding his doublet and pants, stripping off his shirt and stockings, mumbling sleepily under his breath as he did so. Once he collapsed into his bed and started snoring, Geralt slipped back down into sleep himself, confident in and comforted by the knowledge that Jaskier was safe.

He woke with a start in the grey light before dawn, unsure of what exactly had woken him. People had yet to start rousing outside, and there didn't seem to be any disturbance happening in the tavern itself. He didn't think he'd been dreaming, and he didn't feel any unexpected muscle pains that may have twinged hard enough to wake him. It took an embarrassingly long moment of cataloguing all those things before he realized what important sound - or rather, _lack_ of sound - had likely woken him.

Neither snores, soft breathing, nor a heartbeat came from Jaskier's bed.

Geralt was on his feet immediately, taking stock of the situation. Jaskier literally couldn't have left quietly enough not to rouse him, not without some sort of drug or magic, neither of which the bard had. But his bed was visibly empty. Geralt frowned and pushed himself to his feet, scanning the room for anything else out of place, anything different. Jaskier's lute was gone, but his clothes were still folded on top of his bag. His boots - his _only_ pair, as he'd pointed out more than once in their travels - were still kicked off haphazardly near Geralt's.

He was so fixated on their things and what was and wasn't missing that he nearly stepped on a tiny thing that lay in the middle of the room. He pulled his foot back just in time, and picked it up.

A single, perfect buttercup had been placed on the floor of their room, still glimmering with morning dew.

Geralt knew where Jaskier was.

* * *

Geralt came in full armor, with a single perfect buttercup tucked into his hair, through a faerie ring and into the realm of the creatures of the Wood, the same way he had when he'd gone after the missing children. The same and yet so desperately different, for he didn't fear for those children the way he feared for Jaskier now.

It was easy enough to find where he needed to be, simply hold his destination in his mind and follow the sounds of revelry. And indeed, it was no time at all before he passed into a large glade, with dancers whirling on soft turf and faeries scattered everywhere, drinking and laughing and making merry. And tucked to the side of the dancing green, his violet-blue eyes empty of any spark of life, Jaskier sat adorned in a riot of color, his fingers smearing red across his lute as he played, calluses broken and bleeding. Geralt snarled at the sight without thinking, and the faeries nearest him took notice with a startled gasp.

A hush spread out from where he stood, until it reached a woman of unearthly beauty seated on a throne of flowers at the far side of the gathering. He knew her face, he realized as she stood, towering even over him in this place. She was the same faerie he'd bargained with to free the children.

"Well well _well_ ," she said, her voice low and regal and melodic, like a lullaby and a seduction all at once. "It seems the wolf has found his way back to his mistress after all."

"I have come to beg an audience with the Lady of the Glade," he said, as politely as he could muster, resisting the urge to snap or scowl. Angering her would only make it harder for him to save Jaskier from this fate.

"Nearly a century since you begged your first, and yet you're so eager for another," the Lady said. "Very well, you stand before me. What is your petition, Wolf?"

"The bard," he said. "He's not of this place. He's made no deals and committed no crime against you or your people. Let him go."

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

"What, and lose such a delightful musician to brighten our parties?" the Lady asked. "Go, I'll allow you to leave the way you came, even though you were so rude as to interrupt our party."

Geralt clenched his jaw, fighting against the urge to try to intimidate. He couldn't intimidate these faeries, not on their own ground. But he also couldn't leave Jaskier here to the none-too-tender mercies of the capricious faeries, who currently seemed to be more than happy for him to tear his fingers to shreds playing for them.

"If it's entertainment you want, take me instead," Geralt said. Combat demonstrations weren't perhaps as elegant as a musician with a voice bright and clear like a polished silver bell, but it was entertainment nonetheless.

"Oh, little witcher," the Lady cooed. "But we've no need for a sword to divert us. Can you play?" she gestured to Jaskier's lute, still being stained with Jaskier's blood as he played mindlessly.

"No," Geralt growled.

"Can you _sing_?"

" _No_ ," Geralt repeated. "But--"

"Can you cry such pretty tears as this one, with his beautiful flowered eyes?"

Geralt clenched his jaw and looked down. Tears were something most witchers struggled to find, after the trials, and even if he could cry as readily as he's sure Jaskier could, he knew it wasn't what the Lady wanted.

"Please," he started, voice low. "He doesn't deserve this."

"Oh doesn't he?" the Lady's voice was suddenly the chill wind of first frost. "No, witcher, this is not a gaggle of children taken as payment that you can take the place of. The bard stole from my court, and I do not take kindly to that. He is lucky to be allowed a place of such luxury as he has, and only his music afforded him that."

Geralt cursed silently. If Jaskier had truly stolen from them, there was little he could do unless he could find the object in question and return it. Or it could've been something less tangible, something he had thought a boon or gift but was in fact a service that he then was expected to repay.

"Fine," Geralt said tightly. "What did he steal?"

The Lady smiled indulgently. "Why, _you_ , of course."

She moved towards Jaskier and caressed his cheek, life returning to his eyes with a gasp of fear and then his lute falling to the mossy ground he sat on with a cry of pain as his fingertips brushed the strings. His eyes were filled with tears, and there was something perversely beautiful about the sight that made Geralt understand why the faeries might want to keep him for this.

Almost.

"Really, it shouldn't have been possible," the Lady said, tipping Jaskier's chin up until he looked directly ahead and met Geralt's eyes. "My wolf, come _willingly_ to me, who protected us from all manner of incursion when needed and sat prettily in front of my altar when he wasn't. And then this... _bard_ ," she all but spat the word, her nails dragging hard across the tender skin on the back of Jaskier's neck, drawing a wince from him. "This _bard_ came and woke you through means he refuses to tell us, binding you to _his_ service instead."

 _What?_ Geralt frowned at that, but Jaskier just shook his head minutely, grimacing apologetically.

"It's hardly anything worth mentioning, not even enough to truly compel you to even _feel_ , let alone act," the Lady said. "But it is, unfortunately, a magic that I cannot simply _undo_. And as he refuses to grant me ownership again, and you are not your own to trade, I shall keep him instead."

There's nothing Geralt can do, if she speaks the truth. Jaskier has to save himself by allowing the Lady to reclaim her ownership on Geralt. It's not ideal, but he _did_ technically trade himself for those children all those years ago.

"Just do it, Jaskier," he growled. "I made my bed. No need for you to lie in it."

"No." Jaskier's voice was rough and raw. Geralt knew time could pass differently in places like this, and wondered suddenly how long Jaskier had been here, performing until his body gave out and further.

"Jaskier, don't be idiotic," Geralt snapped, planing to tell him it was all right, that there was no need to let the Lady take out her irritation on him the way she clearly had been.

But Jaskier squared his shoulders and raised his chin, and for a moment looked nearly as regal as the Lady.

"The world can do without another bard," he rasped. "But we're damn short on heroes and witchers. And I won't resign someone I lo--" he cut himself off, and looked away from Geralt to take a deep breath before looking back and continuing. "I won't resign you to playing at being some faerie bitch's lapdog."

The Lady sneered in contempt at the insult, and with a flick of her fingers, Jaskier scooped up his lute again and resumed playing. This time, though, while he did not speak or sing, he also didn't go empty-eyed, and sobbed silently as his injured hands played apparently of their own accord.

Geralt could not leave him here. Not without trying to save him. The world could do without another bard, perhaps, but from the two months Geralt had spent with him, Jaskier had proven to be kind, generous, and determined to make the world at least slightly better than he left it. And there were precious few people like that, in Geralt's experience.

"Now," the Lady said, turning away from the bard her magic was all but torturing, "if you'd like to say goodbye, witcher, I believe you've overstayed your--"

"Let me win him from you, then," Geralt blurted out, his mouth getting a bit ahead of him.

The Lady stopped and raised an eyebrow. "A hero's trial?" she asked. "How precious, that a creature incapable of love would offer to attempt such an undertaking."

"It is traditional," Geralt stated firmly. "It doesn't require me to wager my freedom, only my ability to complete the tasks you set for me."

"...Fine. It's been too long since I got to enjoy watching a hero fail. And I'm sure your little flower will find it absolutely _riveting_ , won't you dear?" She patted Jaskier's head. "I'll even give you a chance to say goodbye. Most don't get such freedoms, so be grateful for your stone heart, witcher."

She stepped back from Jaskier, whose hands loosened and dropped his lute again, and Geralt quickly closed the distance and sank to his knees.

"Geralt, don't be an idiot," Jaskier started, but fell quiet when Geralt cupped the back of his neck and pulled him close, their foreheads pressed together.

"I won't leave you here to suffer for your ill-advised kindness," Geralt said.

"If you die doing this I'm still stuck here and you're _dead_!"

"Then I won't die." Geralt exhaled slowly, his breath mingling with Jaskier's between them. "I don't know what we will be to each other in the future. But I think it could be something good. Something _important_. And I'm not going to abandon that just because a faerie wants to keep you."

Jaskier pulled back slightly so he could meet Geralt's eyes, searching for something that Geralt couldn't guess at.

"I think I might love you," Jaskier said after a breath. "So you're not allowed to die."

"I don't yet," Geralt said plainly. "But I think I _could_. And I think I want to try."

And then he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Jaskier's, and everything went white.

* * *

The Lady of the Glade was there glaring daggers when Jaskier's vision finally cleared.

"That should _not_ have been possible," she growled, pointing accusingly at Jaskier. "Witchers can't love. You've magic of some sort, and when I find out how you've cheated me, you _will_ pay for it."

"Uh," Jaskier responded eloquently. His throat was so raw he could taste the hint of blood constantly on the back of his tongue, and his fingers absolutely _throbbed_ , but something was different. Whatever the Lady had been using to overwhelm his control was gone, leaving a lightness in its wake.

"The two of you," she continued, "will get _out_ of my forest. You're free to go for now. If you ever set _foot_ in the Wood again from this day forth, you forfeit that freedom entirely, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," Geralt's voice rumbled from Jaskier's left. "Just point us to the way out."

The Lady curled her lip, and the world felt like it fell out from under Jaskier, and suddenly he and Geralt were dropped into the dirt at the edge of the Wood, his lute falling with a soft jangling sound next to him.

"What... just _happened_?" Jaskier asked, trying not to grimace at the pain in his throat or the way he sounded. Some gentleness and a healer or herbalist should be enough to get him back to his best within a few weeks, even if it very much felt like he'd never sing again.

Geralt started laughing next to him, loud and obvious and nothing at all like the soft huffs of it Jaskier had drawn out from time to time the past couple of months.

"True Love's Kiss," he chuckled. "Everyone always thinks it's about some deep profound love, but it's really about potential."

"What?"

"Think about the stories," Geralt said, his laughter coming under control but his voice still warm with amusement. "It's never between people who've formed a profound bond. Yes, the people may love each other very deeply, romantically or not, but sometimes they've never even _met_. It's about the potential the magic senses between them."

"So..." Jaskier turned this over in his head. "You're saying that True Love's Kiss somehow freed us?"

"Most faerie magic is weak to it. It's old magic, older than they are, I think." Geralt shook his head. "She did this to herself, letting me say goodbye."

"'Witchers can't love'," Jaskier murmured, recalling the Lady's words, and found himself laughing as well despite the pain of it. "Well can I just say that was the most spectacular backfire I've ever had the opportunity to witness?"

Geralt pushed himself to his feet and offered a hand to Jaskier, who took it gingerly and examined his fingertips once he was standing.

"How bad?" Geralt asked quietly, carefully picking up the blood-smeared lute from the ground.

"Well," Jaskier rasped, "much like my voice, which I should probably stop using, it will probably take a few weeks for them to recover fully. But I don't think they'll be a problem once they've healed."

"Good," Geralt said. "Come on, I'll get you to a healer."

"Many thanks, my dear witcher," Jaskier sighed, and they slowly trudged toward the nearest bridge over the river, Virden's walls only half a mile's trek from where they were.

"So I suppose," Jaskier started hopefully as they neared the gate, already getting gawked at for the state they were in, "this means we won't be splitting up at the first crossroads then?"

He saw Geralt smile faintly, and the witcher shook his head.

"Can't trust you not to get kidnapped by selkies on the coast by yourself," Geralt said with a shrug. "Gotta keep you out of trouble."

Jaskier laughed, and despite the pain in his throat and the throbbing in his fingers and the taste of blood on his tongue, he felt happy and hopeful and _alive_ in a way he didn't know how to describe. _Potential_ , maybe.

"If this has been anything to go by," he said, linking his elbow with Geralt's, "then at least it'll make a fantastic story."

* * *

And it did.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [bygodstillam](http://bygodstillam.tumblr.com)  
> discord: ruffboi#9097
> 
> I am always reachable for screaming and chatting. :)


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